Connor's Keeper Murphy's Point of View
by Sasha Cartwright
Summary: A freak accident leaves Murph in the hospital and Connor in jail. Will Murph be able to save his brother, or will he himself make it out alive? Sister story to Murphy's Keeper. Rated M for massive usage of the F word. No sexual implications


Connor's Keeper(Murphy's Point of View)

It was our first mission in three months.

Our target was a fat fuck Russian pimp named Yuri Bucheska that ran a drug ring in south Boston.

This guy was just asking for it and Connor and I were more than happy to oblige.

As we crept down the Ninth Avenue, we saw Bucheska and one of his "associates" on the corner of Ninth and Jefferson.

"Ready?' Connor asked me, pulling his ski mask over the remainder of his face.

"Ready," I answered, doing the same.

Taking our aim, my shot smashed the associate in the chest while Connor's shot went wide.

At the shots, Bucheska took off into the nearby alley.

Connor took his aim again, but Bucheska disappeared, letting Connor's bullet shatter the only light on the corner, the flashing florescent light that hung on the strip club that Bucheska was just standing in front of.

"Fuck!" my brother cursed as he quickly reloaded and I made for the crosswalk.

"Come on," I called back, "we've got to catch him."

We both crossed the crosswalk with me leading the way.

When we got there, there was no trace of Bucheska.

"Where the fuck is he?" I asked, more than a little pissed off at our target's disappearance.

Just then, there was a noise in the alley.

I slowly leaned my head into the alley, only to have that fat Russian come flying out at me and jumping on my back.

"Get the fuck off me!" I shouted, struggling with the huge man that adorned my shoulders and pounded on my thin chest, "Connor, help me!"

"Don't worry Murph," he called back, "I'll get him."

I fought Bucheska for what felt like forever while Connor lined up his shot.

Who'd have thought such a fat motherfucker could hit so hard.

Guess people can do anything when they want to live.

Then I heard the shot.

I expected Bucheska to fall off me and lie in a slump on the ground, but instead he continued to pound me while a sharp pain filled my chest.

As I fell to the ground, I knew the terrible truth.

My brother had shot me.

I looked up to see Bucheska running off down the alley, but right now, he was about the last thing on my mind.

I had to find Connor.

Opening my mouth, I tried to call to him, but the second I tried, the pain seemed to multiply by a thousand.

The bullet that hit me must have traveled through my back and into my lung.

Wasn't this just fucking great.

As I lied on the alley floor, I heard footsteps shuffle towards me.

I knew they had to be Connor's.

Deep down, I wanted to talk to him and tell him that everything would be okay, but with barely enough air to stay conscious, I just lied still.

I heard him kneel down and pull his gloves off, running his hands over my chest and back to find the bullet wound.

"Murph, are you all right?" Connor asked, the franticness noticeable in his voice, "Murphy, where did it hit you?"

"In the back," I coughed, hoping my brother could understand me.

He must have.

With gentle hands, Connor rolled me onto my chest while he looked further for the bullet hole.

I squelched the urge to to gasp in pain.

Connor was nervous enough without my help.

It felt like an eternity before he found the hole.

His hands felt the spot between my third and fourth rib and the pain returned again in full force.

I knew he was just trying to help, but the pain still hurt the same.

I had to block out the pain, for the both of us.

I kept breathing, trying to give my brother comfort by letting him know that I was still alive, but all that came out were thin, raspy breaths.

So much for that idea.

Now Connor knew that the bullet was in my lung.

Far off, I could hear sirens and I knew they weren't a welcoming committee.

I knew we had to go, and so did Connor.

In the darkness, I saw the shadow of Connor lean in next to my head.

"Don't worry Murph," he said, "I'll get you out of this."

Breathing was getting harder so I simply nodded, even though I didn't know how much help I would be with a bullet in my left lung.

It was all up to Connor, but I wasn't too worried.

Connor would think of something.

In the darkness, I felt him put his arm under my chest and pull me to my feet.

It hurt like a bitch, but what choice did we have.

I tried to stifle the wheezes when I breathed as we limped into the street, but as time wore on, even that got harder and harder.

I just had to concentrate on breathing and moving forward.

At least I had Connor.

Without him, I wouldn't have even been able to get out of that alley, let alone get any help.

When we got back to the light of the street, things started to look up.

Now we just had to make it back to the van.

My relief seemed to weaken me and made it even harder to breathe.

The lights started to blur, but Connor snapped me out of it.

Thank God for twin brothers.

I saw Connor give me a quick glance.

By the look on his face, I must have looked pretty bad, but I didn't really care.

Connor always did blow things out of proportion.

"You all right Murph?" he asked, trying to hide his fear behind his words.

Saving my strength for walking, I gave him a weak nod.

With that, we were off again towards the van that waited for us on Fifth Street.

We walked for what felt like forever.

Finally, Connor spotted the van.

"Murph, there's the van," my brother told me, "You're going to be all right."

'That's good,' I thought as we edged closer and closer to the van.

Unfortunately, my legs had a different idea.

Just as we were crossing Fifth Street, I stumbled on the uneven pavement.

I slipped out of Connor's grasp and hit the pavement hard with my injured chest.

Pain racked my body as I laid in the street.

Stooping down, Connor got a hold on my shoulder and tried to pull me back to my feet, but to no avail.

I could faintly hear the sirens from earlier creeping out on us and knew we had to go, but I was spent.

Connor, however, still had some fight in him, and he was convinced that I had some too.

"Come on Murph," he urged, trying hard to get me back to my feet, "you got to get up Murph."

He wasn't ready to give up, and neither was I.

Somehow, I gathered enough strength to pull myself back up.

Then, with the pair of us, we got back to our feet and made for the van once more.

Thanks to Connor.

That fall, unfortunately, had taken whatever strength I had left for walking.

My breath evened and my head landed on Connor's shoulder.

My world darkened around me as I lost consciousness.

Now it was all up to Connor.

And I wasn't worried a bit.

When my eyes opened again, I was lying flat on my back in an ambulance surrounded by EMTs.

Instantly I panicked.

I couldn't find Connor!

I struggled against the oxygen mask that was fastened to my face.

I had to find Connor.

A bunch of the EMTs rushed over to keep the mask on to keep me breathing.

I couldn't begrudge them for that, but I had to find my brother.

One of them pulled out a syringe and pushed it into the IV in my arm.

My world went dark and my brother was nowhere to be found.

When I opened my eyes again. I was staring up at the ceiling and watching the fluorescent lights fly by as I was wheeled into the emergency room.

Now my neck was in one of those casts to keep me from moving my head.

Every time I tried to breathe, it felt like I was taking a drink out of a bottle with the bottom missing.

There were doctors, nurses, and other people in white coats running besides me quoting statistics and numbers that I couldn't understand.

Everything was buzzing with activity, but none of that mattered to me.

I just wanted Connor to be here.

Any of my friends would have made fun of me for saying or even thinking something like that, but I didn't care.

Connor and I were never separated.

Ever since we were kids it was always Murph and Connor, Connor and Murph.

We had always been close and after Da went to prison, that bond just strengthened.

I know what you're thinking.

A couple of gay brothers, how sweet.

Unfortunately, you're wrong.

The kind of love and devotion that Connor and I have is something very unique to the pair of us, none of which require snuggling on the couch or anything else like that.

We had been together so long, it didn't seem like we could ever be separated, I wondered if Connor or I could live without each other.

I don't have much time to think because now I'm being wheeled into surgery.

They steered my gurney over to the operating table and in one fluid movement, slid me onto the table like a pizza.

After this, I'll always have a greater respect for pizza and its delivery people.

I was still wondering about Connor and the majesticness of pizza that could only be brought on by painkillers when a woman dressed in white came to my side.

She looked about thirty-five and carried a clipboard.

If she wanted an autograph, she would have to wait.

"I'm just here to ask you a few questions," she said politely.

I gave her a small nod, the only reply I could muster with my oxygen mask and neck brace.

"We'll take the mask off long enough for you to answer," she promised, "What is your name?"

Then she gently slid the mask off my mouth just enough to expose my lips.

That was when I realized how hard it was to breathe without it.

"M-M-Murphy Mac-c-Manus," I stumbled before she put the mask back on.

"Do you have any family that could answer some questions for us?" the nurse asked.

I gave a small nod before she took the mask off again.

I didn't like not being able to breathe.

When she said 'family' my first thought was Connor, but since he was presently missing in action, Da could vouch for me.

"Who can we contact?" she asked, pulling the mask down once again.

"My Da," I answered, not really minding how childish I sounded.

Quickly, I recalled the number for our house phone and relayed it to the nurse.

"1-765-909-4687," I stated, hoping that I remembered the right number.

"All right," she said, putting the mask back on, "the surgeon will be hear in a few minutes."

The nurse left and I sat or more so lied on the table for several minutes, waiting for the surgeon, going over everything that had happened.

I was actually relieved when a tall man in scrubs that looked painfully like a surgeon appeared through the operating room door.

My oxygen mask was replaced by another mask entirely, this one was, however, anistysia.

"Take a deep breath," the surgeon said as he prepared me and himself for the surgery.

As darkness clouded my sight once more, I realized just how much I hated that feeling.

I wish Connor was here.

Then the darkness would go away.

When I woke up this time, I discovered that I was now in lying in a bed in a residential room of the hospital.

The room was well lit with a small T.V. on the wall.

The smell, however, wasn't nearly as pleasant.

Taking one whiff of that baby powder and rubber glove air made me gag.

I covered my mouth to cough and realized that my mask was gone.

At least that was a plus.

Then the cough came.

If I wasn't in pain before, I was now.

My chest felt like I'd swallowed a lit torch and it spread until my whole body shook.

By the time it stopped, I was gasping for breath.

As I waited for the pain to die down, I heard footsteps moving quickly down the hallway.

I hoped it wasn't a doctor to put that mask back on my face.

Instead, when I looked up, I saw Da standing the doorway.

"Da?" I asked, a little surprised to see him.

"Murphy, are you all right?" he questioned, moving from the doorway to my side, "the doctors told me that you were shot."

"It was an accident Da," I explained, not wanting Da to misunderstand.

"I know," he said quietly, "Connor called and told me."

My stomach flew to my throat.

He had talked to Connor?

Instantly, I was filled with questions.

"You talked to Connor. Where is he? Is he okay? Is he on his way?" I asked in rapid fire succession.

I couldn't seem to get the words out fast enough, but I stopped when I saw the expression on Da's face.

It told me that something was wrong and I needed to know what it was.

"What is it Da?" I asked, "Is Connor okay? Tell me Da."

Da sighed.

"Connor's in jail Murphy," he said flatly.

I couldn't believe what Da had just told me.

Connor, in jail, why?

But I all ready knew why.

It was because of me.

But it was an accident and only he prove that.

My mind was made up.

Connor saved my life now I was going to do the same for him.

"Don't worry Murphy," promised Da, "we'll get him out of this."

"I know," I replied quietly, suddenly tired.

All the shit that had happened today had really taken it out of me.

Da seemed to see it too.

"You just get some rest," Da said, "I'll give you any news I get."

"Thanks Da," I thanked with a yawn as I drifted off to sleep.

Everything would be better tomorrow.

I woke up at 3:28 a.m., coughing like a maniac.

My lungs were on fire and my chest was racked with pain.

Everything started getting blurry and I thought that I was going to die.

The room soon filled with light and I saw Da rush over to the bed.

"Murph, are you all right?" he asked as I tried to catch my breath, "Murphy?"

"Da," I gasped, "I can't breathe."

"Nurse!" I heard Da shout, "Nurse, we need some help in here!"

I could still hear my father shouting as the room went black.

I just wished that I could see it get brighter.

When I hope up again, I had that damn mask back on my face.

My lungs felt like they were made of wet cheese cloth and breathing felt like trying to suck jelly beans through a straw.

As I slowly panned around the room, I saw my father standing over me with a mixture of worry and relief.

"Da?" I asked, looking around the room, "where am I?"

"In the ICU," Da answered, "after the doctors and nurses got you stabilized, they brought you here."

I shook the haze from my head as I slowly tried to sit up.

Not a good idea.

But something still didn't make sense.

"How long have I been here Da?" I asked, looking around again.

In a room with no windows, it's hard to tell the time of day or even what day it was.

"Almost two weeks," he answered, stroking my forehead with his fingertips.

I couldn't believe it.

Two weeks?

How could I have slept for two whole weeks?

In spite of everything, my thoughts drifted to Connor.

"Have you talked to Connor? Did he have his hearing yet?" I asked anxious for information.

Da shook his head.

"I haven't been able to get a hold of him," he answered honestly, "besides, neither of us were in much of a position to talk to him."

I nodded at Da's logic.

What he said made sense, but that still didn't change the fact that it had been nearly two weeks since Connor had received any news from us.

He must be really pissed right now.

"Can we call him now?" I questioned almost pleadingly.

I knew I was in no shape to do anything, especially talk with a respirator shoved down my throat, but if nothing else, just knowing that Connor was okay would be enough for me.

Da could see that I was desperate, but he wouldn't give in.

"Maybe in a few days, if you're feeling better," Da said, "we can call him."

That wasn't quite the answer I was looking for, but for now, it would keep me satisfied.

"All right," I agreed, slowly nodding off to sleep.

"Get some rest son," Da said.

I didn't need much stimulus.

The next two months were murder.

It felt like every time I got a little bit better, I got a whole lot worse.

Within one particularly bad week, I had three of my coughing attacks and had gone into a coma once.

Da hardly ever left my side.

That made it at least a little more bearable especially since there was no TV and most days I wasn't really strong enough to hold up a book.

It would have been easier if Connor was there, but we had to do the best we could.

I begged Da every day to call Connor which was usually followed by me falling into a drug induced sleep or a coughing fit.

Finally, at the end of two months, I started getting better.

They moved me to a residential room again with a phone.

My first order of business was to find the jail's phone number and call Connor, but unfortunately, a nurse showed up and insisted that I eat my first meal of solid food in over a month.

"But I want to call Connor," I said, not caring about eating food that had no smell.

"Well, after you eat, you can call Connor," the nurse had offered, trying to calm me, even though I had no intention of being consoled.

"Fine," I agreed, trying to get rid of her.

After she left, I stabbed at the blob of gray colored mush that sort of plopped on my tray.

'There's no way I'm eating this shit,' I thought to myself as I watched it roll off my fork and sit back on my plate, then, spying the phone, I got an idea.

Da had gone out for a smoke.

It was now or never.

"There is a better way," I said, maneuvering myself so that I could reach the phone book that sat on my night stand.

Thumbing through the pages, I found what I was looking for.

'Mario's Pizzeria, 1-765-909-8403,' I read, typing the numbers into the giant white phone that rested on my shoulder.

"Mario's Pizzeria, how can I help you?" asked a cheerful voice on the other end.

"Hello," I said, pulling my wallet out of the back pocket of my pants, "I'd like a medium pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and onions delivered to 4967 West Birchwood Street under the name Murphy MacManus. Just check in at the desk and they will send you up"

"All right sir," the voice said, "it should be there in about thirty minutes."

"Thank you," I replied, ending the call with a click

Now to call the front desk and prepare them for my little impromptu visit.

"Hello?" the nurse at the other end asked, "is there something the matter Mr. MacManus?"

"No, none at all," I replied calmly, "I was just calling to tell you that I am expecting a visitor in about thirty minutes. When they get here could you just send them up please."

"Sure thing Mr. MacManus," she answered.

"Thank you," I said, too ending that call with a click.

Now all I had to do was wait.

While I waited for my pizza to arrive, I flipped through the phone book, trying to find the number for the jail.

Guess it's not common knowledge.

After nearly forty minutes of looking, I heard a knock on the door frame.

"Medium pepperoni pizza for a Murphy MacManus," the delivery boy read from a small blue ticket in his right hand.

"Right here," I said, motioning towards the bed.

I'm in a hospital.

I'm in no shape to be answering the door.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked, digging the money out of my wallet while he set the pizza box on the night stand.

"10.70," he replied.

I fished out a twenty.

He seemed like a nice kid, not to mention that he delivered a pizza to a hospital with no questions asked.

He definitely deserved a tip.

"Keep the change," I said, handing him the money, then turning my attention to the steamy pie on my right.

"Hey thanks," he thanked, stuffing the bill into his pocket as he walked out the door.

"No problem," I replied, opening the lid on my pizza box and pulling out my first of many pieces of pizza, taking a big bite out of it and letting all the hot, cheesy taste sink into my mouth.

After two months of chewing on IV solution, cheese and pepperonis tasted really good.

I was halfway through my fourth piece when Da reappeared.

He was done with his cigarette and looked a little more than pissed off.

"I heard that you had a visitor and thought that Bucheska had come to finish you off," Da said, ice dripping from his words, "and I come back to find you munching on a pizza."

"They told me I had to eat before I could call Connor," I explained, taking another bite, "but the food sucked so I..."

"Don't you understand?" Da asked, his voice nearing a shout, "Life isn't a game. You can't just keep playing with your life, thinking you're going to live forever. I lost twenty-five years of my life thinking the same thing. I'm not letting you ruin your life like I did. Connor's problem can't be fixed, but I'm not letting you kill yourself too. I can't lose two sons."

That was enough.

"Da," I said, not caring how I came off.

It needed to be said.

"We didn't lose Connor, Da," I stated, "at least not yet we haven't, and whether or not I kill myself protecting my brother is my business. Not just because I know he would do the same thing for me, but because he's my brother and my best friend. He doesn't need to die and I'm not going to let him. In two weeks, I'm going into that courtroom and tell that judge and jury that the whole thing was an accident. I know Connor will probably get some time and I'll still be sick after that, but I'm still going to try. Not you or the doctors or anyone can stop me from doing that."

I could see in my father's eyes that he was finally understanding where I was coming from and knew that nothing could convince me otherwise.

Sitting down on the bed by my feet, Da reached over and snagged one of the remaining pieces of pizza from the box.

"Shut the fuck up and eat your pizza," he said quietly, taking a bite of the slice and eating it like he hadn't had a good meal in two month either.

I smiled and grabbed another slice.

"You know what would go great with this," I said, "a nice glass of Guinness or a big bottle of Hennessey."

Da swiveled his head to look at me.

"Don't push your luck," he said with just a hint of laughter in his voice.

At least this was a start.

That night was a rough one but it was a relief compared to the ones before it.

Following our brief pizza party, I had had another coughing attack.

Wanting me to at least get some rest, the nurse pumped enough painkillers and sleep aids to knock me out for the next month.

At least I wasn't coughing any more.

When I woke up in the morning, I saw Da pulling on his coat.

He had practically been living at the hospital since my accident so I knew was a little intrigued by his intended trip.

"Going somewhere?" I asked, obviously catching him in the act.

"I'm taking your advice," he answered simply, "I'm going to see Connor."

I instantly perked up.

"Can I come too?" I asked, even though we both knew that I was barely able to see straight, let alone go on any kind of trip.

Da shook his head.

"You need to stay here," he said, in the tone that told me that that was the end of our discussion no matter how much I wanted to fight.

Just as he headed out the door, he added, "By the way, they've fixed you phone so it can only receive incoming calls. Sorry, no more pizza."

"That's a load of shit," I argued, infuriated at the idea of them child-proofing my phone.

"Take it up with management," he called, making his way down the hallway.

With nothing else to do, I sat in my bed, looking up at the blank ceiling.

In less than fifteen minutes, I'd established that there were forty-six tiles and three light fixtures.

Now more than ever I wished I'd gone with Da to see Connor.

At least when Da was here I had something to do and someone to talk to.

I didn't even have a TV.

With Da gone, I was realizing how quiet everything was when he wasn't there.

I was so bored in the silence, every minute seeming to get quieter.

When the phone rang, it sounded so loud in the quiet room, I nearly jumped out of my bed.

'Wonder who that could be,' I thought to myself as I lifted the giant white phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I asked, not really sure what to expect of my mystery call .

"Murph, it's Da," the voice on the other line said.

So it was Da.

'That's little odd,' I thought ,'considering the fact that I just saw him twenty minutes ago, or was it thirty?'

"I have someone that wants to talk to you," Da added, making this even stranger.

"All right," I said, sounding a little confused.

I heard the phone shuffle a little as if shifting from person to person.

"Hello?" I asked again.

"Hey Murph," a new voice said, "it's Connor."

Connor?

Well that was certainly a switch.

I was overjoyed to hear from him, but I felt like giving him a hard time.

My phone was blocked from outward calling, so what was his excuse.

"Well fuck me," I said, sounding a little more annoyed than I felt, "you do know how to use a fuckin' phone."

I hear his shock over the phone.

The 'fuck' was nothing new to him, but the surprise was still evident.

"What do you mean?" he asked, "It's not like a can give you a ring whenever I feel like it in here."

I had him where I wanted him so I gave a triumphant snort.

Even with one of us in the hospital and the other in jail, it was fun to get a rise out of him.

"Well when you call, they have to let me talk," I fired back, "I have to beg and plead just to call down stairs."

Then I heard Da's voice over the phone.

He didn't sound amused.

"You didn't call downstairs, Murphy McManus. You ordered a fucking pizza!" he called over the phone, making it sound even louder.

I wasn't about to get yelled at without speaking my part, so I shot back.

"Well I really didn't have a fucking choice," I argued, " Hospital food sucks. Besides, it's not like I called a fucking escort service."

During the argument, I could hear Connor laugh and I knew what he was thinking.

Only his brother would order a pizza to a hospital, and he'd be right.

Our little fight was fun but this was a preciously rare occasion to get a call from Connor and I wasn't going to waste it.

"Well I know you didn't call just to pester me Da, even though it would break up my day," I stated, quickly ending the pizza/phone argument, "let me talk to Connor."

"All right," Da agreed," but don't take too long. You have to get some rest if you want to testify in court for Connor here."

I rolled my eyes.

If I rested anymore, I think I'll explode, but I was willing to agree to just about anything to talk to Connor.

Anything was better than my tiny room with nothing to do.

"Fine," I said, "there's nothing to do here anyway. This place doesn't even have basic cable."

"Oh you poor baby," Connor cooed sarcastically.

"You can stuff it," I replied back, "you got what, 20 channels?"

"30," he answered, "in digital cable."

"Da," I said, "let me at him. I don't have to reach him, just throw the phone at his big fat thirty channel face."

I heard Da say something about a smoke and leave the room.

Now it was just me and Connor.

"So Connor," I said, hoping we could talk a while, "How've you been? You doin' all right?"

"Yea Murph," my brother answered, "I'm doin' fine."

"Well don't you worry 'bout anything," I promised, "after I set them straight in court, you'll be back in no time. We'll go to McGinty's and have a pint yea?"

"Sure Murph," he replied, "whatever you say."

I could hear the half-heartedness in his voice.

Something was up.

"Connor, what's the matter?" I asked, "This isn't like you."

"I know," he admitted.

"Come on, tell me," I urged, "or I'll have Da throw the phone at you again."

Connor laughed at my logic, even though I could tell he didn't feel it.

"Well," Connor said, "it's just..."

"Is it about the accident?" I asked, hitting the nail on the head.

"Yea," he answered.

"Connor, it was an accident," I said, sure to stress the 'accident' part, "it wasn't your fault. If that fat fuck hadn't moved, your bullet would have been buried in his brain and everything would be fine."

"Murph," I said, "don't you understand? That shot could have_ killed_ you. I could have killed you."

"But you didn't," I stated, cutting him off.

Then I added "Connor this wasn't your fault. I know it was an accident and forgive you. If you had left me in that alley, I'd have a good reason to be pissed with you."

There was a long pause on the other end.

I hoped I was getting through to him.

"So are we good now?" I asked after the long pause.

"Yea," he replied, "all better."

"Da's back," he told me, as Da made his way back to the phones.

"All right," I answered, "I'll talk with you later Conner."

"See you in court," he replied.

I laughed as I ended the call with a click.

Everything was going to be fine.

The days before the trial seemed to come at us from all angles.

Sometimes they flew, others crawled, and before either Da or I knew, it was three days before the trial.

Since my call with Connor, I had been feeling so much better.

It had done a number for my spirits.

I wasn't in any shape to go running a marathon or falling through any ceilings, but I was definitely feeling better.

Da and I had caught an early dinner and I was asleep by ten o'clock.

When I awoke, the clock read 2:16 a.m.

I panned the room and saw it as it usually was: bare white walls, no T.V., and a small cot where Da slept.

In fact, that was where he was now.

I could hear his breathing as he slept.

He looked so peaceful while he was sleeping, all of the problems of the day hidden by blissful sleep.

As I sat in the darkness, I felt a cough rising in my chest.

'Not now,' I thought, trying with all my might to stop it before I woke Da up for the forty millionth time with one of my coughing fits.

Unfortunately, I couldn't stop it.

I exploded with a horrible fit of coughing and unable to hold it bad, I just concentrated on breathing.

Da jumped from his cot and rushed to my side.

Knowing that I couldn't answer any questions, he just wrapped his arms around me, trying to help me catch my breath.

After nearly ten minutes, the coughs subsided.

But it was strange, the coughs stopped, but my chest still hurt, even more than usual.

Even stranger was that it felt more like the pain was centered in my chest rather than on either side.

In a split second, I realized what was happening: I was having a heart attack.

Panic mixed with the pain in my chest and made it even harder to breathe.

Da could tell that I was having trouble.

"Murphy, son, are you okay?" he asked, trying to calm me down, but not knowing the real reason I was scared, he couldn't really understand my panic.

He really wanted an answer.

"Murphy, what is the matter?" Da asked, trying to get the facts out of me.

As the pain spread and increased, I managed out only a few words.

"Get the nurse," I instructed, knowing the color was draining from my face.

"Why?" he asked, still trying to figure out my cryptic messages.

"I'm having a heart attack," I whispered, before the whole room went black.

I don't know what happened in those hours I was unconscious, but when I woke up, I was back in the ICU surrounded by machines that I haven't even seen on _House_.

My head was back in the neck brace and I could feel the respirator stuffed in my mouth and for the first time, I was glad to have it.

Moving my head as much as I could, I saw no sign of my father.

I'd probably scared him to death with that attack, but that still didn't excuse his absence.

Then I heard the door open.

Twisting my neck slightly, I saw Da enter the room and slide his cell phone into his pocket.

"Who was that?" I asked, truly interested.

I had to allow myself curiosity because I couldn't really do anything else.

"Connor," Da replied quietly.

My thoughts instantly turned to my brother.

How would he have any sort of chance now without my testimony?

Tears started streaming down my cheeks, and I just let them pool on my face.

"Murphy, this isn't your fault," Da said, trying to console me, "you couldn't have stopped this."

What happened to me didn't seem to matter.

All that meant anything now was Connor.

"I let him down," I sobbed, feeling the full brunt of my failure, "I couldn't save him when he needed me."

Through my tears, I could see Da moved from the door to my side.

Taking my hand and squeezing it with his, Da said, "There's still hope Murphy. We'll find a way, don't you worry. God will find a way."

At this, I snorted.

Would God, any god, do something like this, could he?

Da heard the disbelief in my tone and instantly hardened.

He was in no mood for self-pity, bitterness, or, especially doubt, and he wasn't going to allow me that luxury either.

"Yes God did this, but know this Murphy MacManus, it's for a reason. This is simply part of the plan that he has for you and Connor. You've just got to have faith and believe that there will be a calm after this storm," he said, gripping my hand even tighter, as if to emphasize his point.

He was right.

God would take care of this, I just had to have faith.

"All right," I said, "I'll give it to God. Thanks Da."

"No problem son," he replied, slowly releasing my hand, "just get some rest and feel better."

"Okay," I nodded, "if Connor calls, can I talk to him?"

"If you're up to it," Da promised, "now get some sleep son."

"All right," I agreed, drifting off to sleep once again, with just a little more peace in my heart.

Those days passed at such a painfully slow pace I thought that if the bullet hole in my chest didn't kill me, I might consider doing it myself.

The days were still passing, but I wasn't getting any better.

Well, that's not true.

I'd feel just a little better every once in a while, the sharp, stabbing pain growing into a dull ache.

The day before the trial, they took off the neck brace and the respirator, letting me breathe on my own.

Even with this new freedom, I knew I wasn't strong enough to go to Connor's trial.

On the day of the trial, I woke up at eight o'clock, one hour before it started.

If I left now, I could made it to the courthouse in time.

Pulling myself out of bed, I walked over to the closet that held my clothes.

Quickly grabbing my pants, boxers, and shoes, I eyed the T-shirt that hung alongside Da's coat.

There was no way I could manage a T-shirt without help and I knew Da would throw a fit if he saw me thinking about going to the court house, let alone going there myself, so I left the shirt on its hanger and made my way back over to the bed.

Pulling on my boxers, I maneuvered into my blue jeans.

Every move sent excruciating pain through my body, but that didn't matter right now.

I had to help my brother.

After fumbling with the jeans, I moved on to my shoes.

Lifting my right foot onto my knee, I felt like I was going to rip myself in half.

I quickly tied the first one and, halfway done, I moved on to the second.

The pain was even worse this time, but somehow I managed it.

Looking at the clock, I saw the time: 8:23.

I still had time, but I was completely spent.

Falling back onto the bed, I nearly fell back asleep, but no.

I had to help Connor.

Forcing myself up, I got to my feet and made my way over to the door.

I didn't exactly know what I was going to do after I got through that door, but I'd figure that out when I got there.

Unfortunately, I didn't get that far.

Just feet away from the door frame, I stumbled and landed on my injured chest in the middle of the tile floor.

I was racked with pain, but I still had to try.

For Connor.

The crash had, however, woken Da up, and finding his sick son on the floor wasn't exactly his idea of a wake-up call .

I don't know whether it was out of desperation or sheer delusion from the drugs, but I thought that I could beat Da out of the room, to the elevator, and to the courtroom.

Connor needed me and I wasn't going to let him down.

Da, of course, caught up with me.

"Come on son," he coaxed, trying to ease me back into bed before I really fucked myself up.

"No Da," I fought, still thinking I could beat him, "no, I have to."

"Murphy you're going to hurt yourself, please son," Da said, using firm, but gently hands, "Murphy."

"No Da," I cried, still fighting against him, even though very feebly, "Connor needs me. I have to help Connor."

Then I collapsed, no strength left in me.

I had failed.

There was no way I could make it in this shape.

My brother needed me, but I just couldn't help him.

When that fact hit me, it destroyed and left me sobbing in my father's arms on the floor of my hospital room.

"Come on Murphy," Da cooed, helping me up and back to the bed, "let's go."

When I made it back, I dropped exhausted onto my bed and lost consciousness, just not strong enough to even stay awake.

At least I didn't have to stay wake through my brother's trial while I was powerless to help him.

That was something.

When I woke up, I could see the haze of evening filling my room.

I knew that Connor's trial was long over by now.

All that was left to do was call him and hear what his sentence was.

I looked around my room, I saw Da sitting in the chair by my night stand, whispering into his cell phone.

It didn't take much to figure out that it was Connor on the other end.

I had to talk to him, tell him why.

"Let me talk to him," I said, knowing that my father knew full well what I was talking about.

Da looked over to me, clearly surprised that I was awake, with a sort of sad look on his face.

I knew I must have looked horrible, but I didn't care.

I wanted to talk to Connor.

"Murphy please," Da said, trying to console me, but I wouldn't take the bait.

This was too important.

"Da, don't argue with me," I said sternly, "give me the phone."

Da sighed and handed me the phone.

"Hey Connor," I said, puffing hard to get my words out, "I-I-I'm s-s-sorry I-I-I c-couldn't h-help you today. I-I-I'm really s-s-sorry Connor."

"Murph," Connor assured, "it's all right. I'm not mad at you. Just get some rest and get better okay?"

"B-b-but C-conner, " I stuttered, trying so hard to make the words come out right, but he cut me to the chase.

"No Murph," Connor said firmly, "none of this is your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Why wouldn't he just let me talk to him.

My brother seemed to have an agenda, and it was hopeless to talk him out of it.

"Listen to me Murphy, it doesn't matter what happens to me do you hear me. You need to focus on getting better. Da's going to need you while I'm in prison and you won't be much help in a hospital bed. You have enough to worry about. Forget about me and just get better," he said.

"But Connor?" I tried, but he wasn't stopping for anyone or any reason.

"Fuck it Murph! Forget me! I'm too far gone!" Connor shouted before he slammed the phone back on the hook.

I looked up at Da, utter confusion spread across my face.

"They gave him an extra day in court," Da explained.

Why was everyone upset?

This was great news.

That gave me an extra day to help Connor.

"What's the matter?" I asked, " that just gave us an extra day."

"Be sensible Murphy," Da reasoned, "you nearly died this morning just trying to get out of the room. How do you think you're going to get the doctor's to go along with this, even if you are strong enough in the morning to go."

"I can't," I admitted, "at least not by myself, but with your help, we wouldn't need the doctor's permission."

My father gave me a look of utter disbelief.

"You can't be serious," he said, as if hoping that I was joking.

Unfortunately for him, I was dead serious.

"If I got a wheelchair, I wouldn't have to walk and that alone would save a good portion of my strength," I reasoned, the plot ever-growing in sophistication, "and if we took the back stairs, no one would notice we were gone."

"We?" Da asked.

"Well if I can't even walk, I'm in no shape to roll," I defended.

"What about the van?" Da asked, now starting to consider my plan a little more than before, "if they saw it, they'd start looking for you."

"No the van wouldn't be any good," I thought aloud, then thinking of the bus stop down at the end of the street, I got an idea, "we'll have to take the bus."

Now I had completely lost Da.

"The bus?" he asked, not even close to believing me, "the van would be too obvious so we're going to take a bus?"

"It wouldn't be too obvious if we were street performers," I stated, still holding my ace, "if we pretend that we're just acting, we'll blend right in."

"You're really serious about this aren't you?" Da said, truly fascinated by my ingenious idea.

I nodded.

"I can't let Connor have all the fun," I replied with a smirk that would have made the devil proud.

"All right," Da agreed, "but if you're going to do this, you need to get some rest. All that scheming must have made you tired."

"Just exhausted," I answered, lying back against my pillow and falling asleep.

I couldn't wait for tomorrow.

The next morning, at seven o'clock, Da and I prepared for our trip to the court house, and by eight seventeen, we were waiting at the bus stop.

As before, I wore my jeans under my hospital gown, but this time, I wore no shoes and brought along my IV, just in case we were asked any questions.

The look on the bus driver's face was truly priceless, but we couldn't quit at this stage of the game.

Da left all the explaining to me and after a quick story about us being street performers and needing a ride to the courthouse, the bus driver was only too happy to oblige.

Using the wheelchair ramp, Da and I maneuvered my chair onto the fortunately empty bus and took a seat behind the driver so that we could get out easily.

We made our way down the still sleepy streets of south Boston, the bus driver became more and more chatty.

Da was a little leery about letting him know too much, but I was in a far more sociable mood.

If you're going to do something like this, you have to go all out.

By the time we came to Crick Avenue, Tom, the bus driver was a lot less nervous.

"You know," he told me, "your costume is really convincing. I actually thought you had, like, broken out of a hospital."

"Not worry," I said nonchalantly, "we get that all the time."

When we finally reached the court house, Da and I exited as quickly as we could, hoping we weren't too late.

"Good luck," Tom called as he drove away, leaving the two of us at the threshold of the court house.

With Tom gone, Da turned his attention to the courthouse's front doors.

"Come on," he said, wheeling me towards the doors.

"Wait Da," I stated, putting on the chair's brakes and turning it to face the busy street.

"What are you doing?" he asked, knowing that we didn't have much time, "He's gone. We can go in now."

"I won't let it be said that Murphy MacManus is a liar," I answered, gripping my IV in my hand like a microphone.

I wasn't sure what I was doing, but I knew that I'd think of something.

"Murphy we don't have time for this," Da urged.

"Just one or two people," I pleaded, "please."

"Fine," he said, "but don't get too carried away."

"All right," I replied, then turning to a woman of about forty, I called, holding up my IV, "Hello Miss, I'm here with WIKK TV and I'd like to know how you're doing today."

"My name's Cindy Malacoasta," she replied, "and I'm doing just great."

"Well that's fantastic Cindy," I said, "have a wonderful day."

Cindy smiled and continued on her way, disappearing into the crowd.

"All right, you've made your point," Da said, "can we go in now? Connor will think we're not coming if we don't hurry it up."

I knew what Da said was right, but I just wanted one more.

"All right," I answered, "just one more."

"Murphy," Da begged, but I had already found my next inductee.

"Hello sir, I'm with WIKK TV and I'd just like to know how you're doing today," I recited for the second time to a man about three years younger than me.

He looked excited about the chance to be on television and, in his excitement, he snatched away my IV microphone and squeezed it in his big, meaty hand.

I tried not to show the sheer agony that I felt while he jabbered on to an imaginary camera to his mom and someone named Anna.

When he was done, he handed the IV back to me, fortunately enough for him, before I could take it back, and continued on his way down the street.

I was done now.

Da, seeing what had happened, rushed over to me as I rolled over to the entrance.

"Are you all right?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice, followed by a hint of 'I told you so'.

Not feeling like talking about it, I simply replied, "Let's go see Connor."

When we finally reached the court room with Connor's trial, the jury members were on their way into council.

Not if Da and I had anything to do with it.

"Wait a minute," Da said, "there is one final witness."

Everyone in the court room, including Connor, looked up.

"This is our surprise witness," Da said as he pushed me towards the judge's stand, "I bring to the stand Murphy McManus. He was the one who was shot in the alley that night. If anything, he could tell us what happened."

While Da rolled me towards the judge's stand, I shot a quick glance over to Bucheska.

He was positively green at my appearance.

I gave a small smile, but I knew that the game wasn't won yet.

Bucheska still had a few tricks up his sleeve and he wasn't afraid to use them.

"Your honor," said Bucheska, "I really must protest."

"Why is that Mr. Bucheska?" the judge asked curiously.

"Well first," offered Bucheska, "if they both have the last name of McManus, they could be related. What would stop one from covering up for another.

A few of the jury members nodded and mumbled in agreement.

The judge looked at Connor and asked, "Is he related to you?"

"Yes your honor," he replied, "he's my brother."

The jury's mumble seemed to get louder at this revelation.

Fortunately, I decided to intervene.

"Even though I am his brother," I suggested, " wouldn't I want him behind bars just as much as everyone else if I really thought that he was dangerous."

This made Bucheska take a new angle.

"Besides," reasoned the Russian, "how do we know that's the guy in the alley?"

The jury members began to mumble again, but I had an explanation for that too.

"Well," I said, "I have nice hole in my back if you need any convincing that I was there."

Some of the people in the crowd chuckled at my statement while Bucheska tried to find another loophole.

"But, but," tried Bucheska, but he had run out of excuses.

"That's quite enough," stated the judge, turning to me, "Mr. McManus, you may approach the bench."

I looked down at his wheelchair and up at the stairs up to the witness stand.

"In all due respect, Your Honor," I said, "I don't think this chair will take those stairs very well."

"Very well," declared the judge, "you may stay there."

A few minutes later and I was sworn in and relaying my testimony to the court.

I told them about finding Bucheska, getting jumped in the alley, the accidental gunshot, and of Connor taking me back to the car to go to the hospital.

By the end of my story, Connor and I both knew that we had it in the bag.

Bucheska, however, wasn't as lucky.

With both of our stories finding him guilty of perjury, he was bound to get at least a few years of jail time for just being an "innocent bystander'.

"Is that everything Mr. McManus?" the judge asked when I was finished.

"Yes Your Honor," replied I honestly.

"All right," the judge stated, "the jury will now go into council for their verdict."

The jury disappeared into their small meeting room to discuss their decision.

When the jury left, Da and I rolled over to see Conner.

Stopping right in front of Connor, I looked him straight in the eyes.

For a long time, I didn't say anything, then...

"Fuck you Connor," I shouted defiantly, but I could tell he was too happy to be mad at me.

Standing from his seat, Connor reached across the table and looped his handcuffed hands around my neck and pulled me into a hug.

"I'm glad you're okay," he told me quietly, not caring who saw, even though we must have been a sight, him in his jumpsuit and handcuffs and me in my hospital gown and wheelchair.

"Easy Connor," I said, giving one of his restrained arms a gentle pat, "we don't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

"Of course not," he agreed, "but I still don't get it."

"What?" Da and I asked in unison.

"How did you convince the hospital to let you come?" Connor asked me curiously, "I mean, you were in the ICU for fuck's sake."

"Well," said I, scratching my head, "there's a funny story about that."

"What do you mean?" my brother asked, mystified by these strange answers.

"Gez Connor," I said, tired of being prodded at for answers, "for fuck's sake. What fucking difference does it make how I got here? All that matters is that I'm here."

He laughed at my philosophy, sounding very curious about the course of action that had brought his brother from the ICU into the courtroom.

Fortunately, Da was a little more loose-lipped.

"Well," Da explained, "we used the back service elevator."

"Okay," Connor said, following along so far.

"Then we got on the bus," I relayed casually.

"You took a bus?" Connor asked, baffled by the behavior of his father and brother.

"That's what just fuckin' said, isn't it?" I fired back sharply, hoping I wouldn't have to repeat everything I told my now apparently deaf brother.

"I just meant that they let you take a bus in a hospital gown with an IV in a wheelchair?" Connor said.

"We had a convincing story," Da explained nonchalantly, giving me an interesting look.

"All right," he nodded, kind of understanding.

"Well when we got off the bus, we stayed out for a bit, to keep up the story," I relayed.

"Okay," Connor said, sounding tired of inside jokes, "what story."

At his look of utter confusion, Da explained.

"The story that your brother came up with to get himself out of the hospital," Da explained, " That we were street performers and his hospital gown was a costume."

I knew that face.

He couldn't believe it.

Only I would do that, even though we both know he would have been right there with me if he had half the chance.

"So how did it go over?" my brother asked as if not really sure what to say.

"All right," I replied, "I was a news anchor."

Now it was his turn for the interesting look.

Fortunately, Da explained once again.

"He used his IV like a microphone," Da said.

"Are you serious?" Connor asked, laughing at the sheer comedy and audacity of what my father had just told him.

"Worked pretty well too," I grumbled, "til that asshole squeezed the bag."

"So we kind of cut the game short after that," Da added.

"Yea, I'll bet," Connor agreed.

Just then, the jury emerged with their verdict.

"Good luck," I whispered as the three of us awaited their answer.

"What is your verdict?" the judge asked.

One jury member rose from his seat and said, "Since the shooting was an accident, we have dropped the attempted murder charge. Unfortunately, because of the circumstance, we still feel the need for the second conviction."

"That's not bad," I said, "one instead of two."

Connor nodded solemnly as he waited for the rest of what the jury had to say.

"However, we have also found it important to the case that we convict Yuri Bucheska with perjury and feel that suit should be followed with that as well."

"How about that," Da said while I laughed at the look on Bucheska's face.

"Very well," said the judge, "Connor McManus, I am charging you with a misdemeanor count of assault with a deadly weapon and sentence you to nine months in prison. Subtracting the three months that you have already served, you have six months in prison as your sentence. As for Yuri Bucheska, you are charged with felony level perjury and are sentenced to five years in prison with five hundred thousand dollar bail. Court is adjourned."

"That's not too bad Connor," I said, "You'll be out before you know it."

"I could have never done it without you Murph," he answered.

Getting to my knees, Connor gave me a goodbye hug.

"See you in six months," I said with a smile.

"You better not wait that long," Connor retorted.

I gave my brother a look.

"Fuck off! Be glad if I see you at all. After this little trip, I'll be lucky if they don't chuck me in there with you," I fired back.

"Good luck son," Da bid, saying his goodbyes as well.

"Thanks Da," Connor said, "see you in six months."

"Oh shut up!" I called back as I rolled my way towards the door, going to have Da catch up with me before I could escape.

Making our way back to the bus stop, Da said, "You did good today Murphy."

"Thanks," I replied, glad now that it was over.

In six months from now, Connor and I would be wreaking havoc on Boston once more.

With that, I was prepared for the ride back to the hospital.

We waited for only a few minutes before a bus pulled up and opened its doors with no one else but Tom driving it.

"Have any luck?" he asked as Da and I reboarded the bus and sped away.

"Yes, plenty," Da answered, clasping me on the shoulder.

"I've been driving around looking for you two," Tom admitted, "I kind of figured you two would need a quick getaway."

"And that we did," I said quietly, so that Da was the only one to hear me.

"So where to?" Tom asked, steering swiftly through the traffic, "Back to the hospital?"

"Yes, that'll be just fine," I answered, sitting back to enjoy the ride.

As we sped down the street, I could hear the radio playing on the bus's speakers.

"And today on Crick Avenue, there was a truly unusual disturbance. A man in a wheelchair was posing as a news anchor in front of the courthouse. This man was not found to be dangerous, but all citizens are advised to keep watch for this strange, cheerful vigilante."

I could feel Da's eyes on me as my lips spread into a smile.

"Well?" he asked, "are you happy with yourself?"

"Yes," I answered honestly, "Yes I am."

Six Months Later

The six months of Connor's jail sentence seemed to pass in no time at all.

I was in the hospital for another five months.

Fortunately no one found out about my little trip so that made those months easier.

After I was released from the hospital, I went back to living in our apartment with Da.

Pretty much every day I would ask him to go see Connor.

I could tell he was getting a little fed up with my company, but since he couldn't really get rid of me, we were stuck together.

That last month was the longest, but before I knew it, we were driving down the road to pick Connor up from North Hires.

I must have told Da to speed up half a dozen times.

I wasn't trying to bug him, I just wanted to see Connor.

As we pulled into the jail's parking lot, I saw a figure approaching the car cloaked in a black T-shirt and blue jeans wearing dark sunglasses.

Connor.

I tried to get out to greet him, but was stopped by Da.

"You stay right there," he ordered, still not happy with me for my back seat driving tips.

"Fine," I said as he climbed out of the car.

After a few words with Connor, the two of them boarded the car, Da in the driver's seat and Connor in the back with me.

"What lies has he been telling about me?" I asked as Connor clicked the buckle on his seatbelt.

"Those of the most foul," he replied.

"I only told him the truth,"Da said back.

"Yea," I nodded disbelievingly, "right."

"Better settle in boys," Da said, changing the subject, "it's at least two hours back to the house."

"But I have to go to the bathroom," I whined jokingly to Connor's amusement, but not Da's.

"I've had enough out of you Murphy McManus," scolded Da.

I smiled.

"All right Da," I surrendered, and with that the car fell silent.

The car flew down the highway as the three McManus men headed back home.

I watched Connor as he stared out the window, the look in his eyes was one of distance like he didn't know what to do or say.

Da had told us before that prison can change a man.

I only hoped that it hadn't changed Connor, at least not too much.

With no ready-made lines or even anything interesting to say, I looked out my window too.

After a few more silent moments, I pulled out my pack of cigarettes.

At least I didn't need company to smoke.

Lighting up, I took a long drag and let the smoke sort of hang in my mouth, letting it back out very slowly.

I repeated this process once more until I felt eyes on me.

I looked to the side to Connor looking back at me with a small smile on his face.

Not really sure why, I asked, "What's the matter?"

The smoke escaped from my mouth in a thin stream and seemed to cloud the whole car, but even as the smoke dissipated, Connor's smile didn't.

"Nothing," he replied, turning once again to look out the window.

Then, suddenly all the tension seemed to leave the car and like a cloud lifted, it revealed not just two ex-criminals and a hospital patient, but a family.

From here on in, no matter what happened, I knew we'd be all right.

All together again, Connor, me, Da, and a little help from God.

What could go wrong.

The End


End file.
